


A Reason To Stay

by SlytherinPride2292



Category: The House is Burning (2006)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Phil likes hard-to-get and sassy, Reader is hard-to-get and sassy, Reader/Phil smut, Small Mention Of Drugs, The build-up ain't bad either, There's plot and smut: it's a gold mine, Truth-or-dare makes for a great plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 10:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22848394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinPride2292/pseuds/SlytherinPride2292
Summary: Reader accepts an invitation to a party where characters will play Smooch-Or-Dare.Xx Smut with Plot Xx
Relationships: Mike and Valerie, Phil and Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	A Reason To Stay

**Author's Note:**

> For my beautiful friend, @LordRobinTaylor. Our love (and lust) for Robin brought us together and I'm thankful to have you in my life. This fic is dedicated to you. *heart hands*

A Reason To Stay

* * *

(Set before the events of The House Is Burning)

The neighborhood in which you were born and raised was small. In a class of three-hundred graduating students, your town was tiny as hell; there were a total of four stoplights and two stop signs in what could have been hilariously termed as your ‘city’. For god’s sake, one school incorporated the same students from kindergarten to high school…somehow, there were people who never changed—their bodies might’ve filled out or had grown facial hair in their late teens, but the better half of your peers seemed to still think they were first graders.

7 years after graduation, you saw the same friends, the same people with whom you shared homeroom. 

You ran into your former teachers at the grocery store, although you never seemed to get used to seeing your calculus teacher, Mr. Shreider, buy bananas.

Mr. Shreider wasn’t being weird and buying bananas wasn’t odd; it was just seeing him behave like a normal person outside of your high school life that made it weird.

You seemed to age, but the small town seemed to stay the same. And your world was…

 _Boring_.

Being in your mid-twenties, you’d already moved out from your parents’ house, but because it was such a small town, you still saw them from time to time, not that you made a point to do so. It was just a small world. Your life was typical of a mid-twenties’ gal: that nine-to-five job from Monday to Friday, off the other weekend if your work-a-day life could accommodate that need; the humdrum of friends that would invite you out to party it up on Saturdays, and the occasional guy or gal that would flirt with you…sometimes, just to take the boredom out of your life, you even flirted back—not that you meant any of it.

Your night always ended with sitting at home and falling asleep to the late-night show.

 _Boring_.

The town was boring, and damn near lifeless. The moments in your life that might’ve been ‘eventful’ were never fun. Leaving always seemed like a good idea.

That was until you saw Phil.

Phil was a wild one. With his messy tangles of short blonde hair, brilliant aquamarine eyes, and tattoos that had no meaning to you, Phil seemed to have the same qualities as the rest of his own posse: Booze, cigarettes, weed, and the occasional raucous party. The difference between him and his friends was that he was the best-looking one, and he seemed to be the most socially adept out of the bunch.

You didn’t have much interaction with him, but you hoped to change that at tonight’s party.

You stayed close to the kitchen where the food and alcohol were served, and you made small conversation with Valerie, only long enough so that the implied thanks for the invitation might be acknowledged and received. Once Valerie saw her boyfriend, Mike—some young guy who decided he was going to go gung-ho into the Army—she left your side once she realized you weren’t going to miss her.

After all, your eyes were on Phil, who steadily made his rounds from one friend group to another before he finally approached you with a small smile.

You and Phil didn’t have much communication in the past, although you knew tidbits about his life that likely everyone else in the neighborhood knew: he was a small-time drug dealer (mostly pills and weed), and he lived in an apartment with one of his stoner clients and friend, Jason.

While he was aware that you were Valerie’s friend, that seemed to be the only thing he knew since he barely said more than a few words to you when he’d made his way into the kitchen, standing beside you as he poured himself a drink. He stood close enough, the smell of cigarettes and weed aired off his clothes easily, but there was a hint of something else…cologne, perhaps?

Summertime in your neighborhood normally didn’t do you any favors but for its grief, the humidity finally granted one reprieve: Phil looked good, even when he was sweaty. Another reprieve came up when Phil frowned, lightly shaking the empty bottle of liquor and throwing it carelessly into the trashcan.

 _An opening, finally_.

“There’s another one in the refrigerator.”

Phil raises his eyebrows, glancing in your direction. It might’ve been the first time he had heard you speak in the span of three months since he’d been vaguely introduced to you by Valerie before she quickly left to do with him what she normally did. Unknown to him or Mike, you knew that Phil and Valerie’s favorite get-together activity didn’t require a bed, but it was usually ideal to have one.

You didn’t wait for him to investigate your claim about the extra booze in the ice box; instead, your arm reaches past him, opening the refrigerator door for yourself to place a chilled bottle directly in front of him.

“You’ve been keeping tabs on the amount of booze around here?” Phil teases, grinning when you lazily place a plastic, disposable red solo cup beside the alcohol.

“Someone has to.” You reply smoothly. “Otherwise, how will the rest of us get drunk around here?”

Phil opens the bottle, and lifts it in your direction: “Want one?”

“I’ll pour it myself.”

He hears the cool, calculated edge to your tone and laughs, “You know, just because chivalry is dead doesn’t mean I can’t do the honors.”

“So, you’re _honored,_ are you?”

He tries to suppress it, but there is a certain mischievous smile that tries to tug on the corner of his mouth. His ex-girlfriend, Terry, is a bit of a mood-killer, and his most recent conquest (unknown to Mike, of course) isn’t exactly the joke-cracking type. Your humor resonates with him in a way that contrasts greatly to the chemistry (or lack of) that he shares with the other two girls.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” Phil offers conversationally; he pours you a drink as he allegedly been honored to do a second ago. When you take the drink from him, your fingers glide over his, pretending not to notice that they even made contact.

“Oh, no, we _have_.”

“Really? When?”

“A few months ago.” You jerk your thumb behind you as you explain, “I know you through Valerie.”

“Do you?”

“Yep.”

He furrows his eyebrows, trying to remember your name: “You’re…uh, fuck, hold on, I’ll get it.” He snaps his fingers to jog his memory.

“She introduced me as her ‘friend’. She never said my name.”

Phil smirks, hearing your impish giggle: “Oh, you were just fucking with me, huh?”

“Yeah. I thought that would’ve been something you might enjoy.”

He leans into you as he asks with intrigue, “What is that, exactly?”

In another room, Valerie calls your name, no doubt trying to give you the scoop on whatever new update her and Mike had to relay about their relationship.

You take a small drink from your cup, and you answer his coy question with one word before you walk out of the kitchen with a wink in his direction to join her: “ _Fucking_.”

* * *

You would’ve had to be completely incompetent to think that Phil wouldn’t follow-up on your previous discussion at some point during the remainder of the party. While the other invited guests started drinking heavily into the stocks of alcohol having been provided by Mike and one of Phil’s more barbaric friends (a guy named Jason), you proceeded to take your charming existence outside.

The more sober category of the party seemed to have considered the same; of these fair elite is a sixteen-year-old named Sharon, who had just gotten her driver’s license (god have mercy), and Valerie’s little sister, Anne, a fourteen-year-old whose attitude bore the similarity like that of a pregnant, feral pussy cat. Mike and Valerie are sitting on a swing; her legs slung over his lap in the makings of what would eventually become a makeout-session-turned-second-base.

“Hey!” Valerie waves you over. She says your name with the pronunciation of a slurring angel; Mike, the more sober of their evangelistic coupling, smiles politely, although he seems more annoyed by your presence than anything: the feeling is mutual.

“How you doing?” Valerie asks.

“Fine.” You answer politely, smiling. “Good party.”

“The guys and me are about to go in and do some shots,” Mike offers. “Do you wanna join us?”

He’s obviously making a point to include you in the party at his own expense.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Come _on_ ,” Valerie tries to persuade. “It’s only _Saturday_. You don’t work again until Monday. Just come with us.”

Your answer exhales in the sound of a scathing noise, so Valerie quells her queue of peer pressure when Mike emphasizes your polite declination. While the guy annoyed you with his pedestal-like self-righteousness and ‘good boyfriend’ hospitality, at least he recognizes a ‘no’ when he hears it.

Steadily, one by one, the crowd disperses inside the house. Whether that was to drink, smoke, or do the ultimate truth-or-dare that always culminated around these types of parties, you are relieved to be finally left to your own devices.

 _“You know there’s a reason why people think you’re a cold fish_.”

You hear his voice before he appears behind you.

Phil smiles when you raise an eyebrow at him, a small nonverbal challenge to his otherwise playful observation. In between the index and middle fingers of his left hand is a cigarette; the other holds a red cup, like the one you’ve placed in front of him for his first drink of the party.

“Is this seat taken?” He inquires, gesturing to the empty spot next to you on the swing, which the seemingly happy Mike-and-Valerie couple had only previously kept warm.

“Does it look like it?”

He plops down beside you with a deep, relaxing sigh, glancing over at you for a brief second before he drags on the cigarette he holds. He nudges the cup against your bare shoulder: “Sip?”

“No, thanks.”

“Smoke?”

“Again: No thanks.”

“So, what is it with you?”

You startle at his somewhat posh tone, only because you weren’t expecting it. His eyes give you a once-over, taking in the immodesty of your blouse which dips low into your valley, allowing a view of an outline of your breasts, and the tops of your shoulders, then to your knee-high skirt. They spend a little more time on your bare legs, and you notice a small smile creep to his lips at the black polish on your toes. You’d long ago abandoned your flats for bare feet.

“What do you mean?” You ask nonchalantly; you’re not offended by his question, per se. Not enough to respond callously…at least, not just yet.

“You come to a party,” Phil says ironically. “You have only _one_ drink, and that’s it. You don’t smoke, and you’re not lit off your ass, so I have to ask: Why are you here?”

You chuckle lowly, grinning only because he isn’t the first person to ask this question.

“My idea of a fun time ain’t getting ‘lit off my ass’ and it certainly isn’t walking around drunk, hoping I might get some eager beaver to accidentally fall dick-first into my pussy, if you really wanna know.”

“But you _are_ having fun, aren’t you?” Phil asks pointedly.

“Fun enough. It’s not the best party I’ve been to, but it’s a party regardless.”

“Huh.”

“Anyway,” You sigh. “I’m surprised you’re not trying to climb into Val’s box yet; Mike seemed to get out of the ring in the last round.”

Phil’s eyebrow quirks at your insinuation. He’s not stupid like his friends. He knows when he’s been caught, and you’re not too proud to feel a little turned on when he smiles knowingly, realizing you caught him with his hands in the cookie jar.

“So, what’re you pitching me?” Phil asks coolly.

“Wow. Not even the slightest bit of panic.”

“Why should I panic? Are you telling Mike?”

“Valerie isn’t _my_ girlfriend, and Mike is stupid if he hasn’t noticed the signs yet.”

“Signs?”

“Yeah.” You lean into him, and without saying much, your hand sneaks inside the pocket of his sweatpants. Phil’s crooked smile pulls at his lips the moment he feels your fingers run ‘accidentally’ over his clothed cock as your hand reaches deeper into his pocket to pull out his pack of cigarettes.

“You’ve left a box of these at her place.” You tell him coolly. “Not to mention there’s unaccounted time between her comings and goings where Mike doesn’t know where she’s been or who she’s _really_ been with.”

“And how do you know all of that?”

“She uses _me_ as her alibi, but Mike is too naïve or too polite to ask me if any of what she’s said is true.”

“So, you’re disgusted?”

“Nope.” You shrug, smiling. “Just a bit disappointed.”

“Oh, really?”

Phil drank what was left in his cup, throwing it out to the yard for the clean-up crew to collect; if they didn’t, it was biodegradable, so fuck the environment. He leans his back further into the wooden swing, his arms reclined and outstretched along the top of it. It is clear he did this on purpose to demonstrate his apathy for getting caught, also, he’d inadvertently flexed, and you became more aware of the muscular definition in his arms.

He was lanky, but lean. And he really was just your type.

“You’re disappointed?” Phil teased, smirking.

“Yeah.”

“Are you angry at Valerie? I mean, she _is_ your friend.”

“No. I’m kind of disappointed with _you_.”

Phil snorted, “Oh, _really_? Why is that?”

“Because if you wanted a midday fuck, you could’ve just come by _my_ place, instead of hers.”

His initial coy response was now extinguished by your casual demeanor. The bulge in his pants you’d been eyeing every now and then to the greatest degree of discretion seemed to stiffen just the slightest bit. He tries to play things cool, even while you pulled your hair in a ponytail, revealing the soft column of your neck, the kissable skin that your shirt didn’t try to hide.

“Why’d you come to this thing again?” Phil asks; if anything, it was an attempt to distract his mind from the dirty images of the two of you together, and what could possibly happen if the conversation didn’t get switched to something less provocative.

“The possibilities are endless: For the laughs. To spend time with friends. Because this town is boring as fuck and there’s nothing else to do,” You list the reasons with little hesitation, counting those reasons on your hand. “Because there’s nothing worth watching on TV, or because my parents wanted me to go to the movies with them to see this stupid chick flick and I made up an excuse that I was going to a party, _and_ Valerie just happened to invite me to this thing so I decided to come and I ended up _not_ lying to my parents to begin with.”

Phil snickers, “That last one sounds like it might be true.”

“Well, shit, what gave you that idea?”

There it was again.

That same smile that Phil has tried to suppress when you appeal to his topical, sarcastic sense of humor now appears in its full potential.

For some reason, it suddenly disappears as he quietly clears his throat, looking as if he’d just laughed at something that he should not have found funny. There are many reasons as to why he may react this way, but your main theory is that whatever respect he has for Valerie supersedes whatever respect he may hold for his friend, Mike. He doesn’t care to enable her infidelity but having natural chemistry with one of Valerie’s friends might be going too far: that theory seemed to fit the ambiguity that was Phil’s moral compass.

Regardless of the theory behind his subtle reaction, Phil looks up at the sky from your place on the swing, as though he hopes you haven’t seen whatever it is that he’s trying to hide.

“Do you…” He begins to speak before glancing at you hesitantly.

“Hmm?”

“Do you wanna go inside?”

“For?”

There is a lot of laughter coming from the living room, loud enough that you both can hear it from where you both sit outside on the bench. Honestly, you would have rather sat outside on the porch, ignoring the ignorant, barbaric braying that came from the asses inside, but if it meant that Phil would eventually become more comfortable around you, then what was the harm?

“Sure!” You say with an encouraging smile.

He takes one last drag from his cigarette before tossing that to the yard to join the abandoned solo cup before he walked into the house first, leaving the door open for your quick reentry as well. The moment you both come inside, there is a large, overwhelming welcome as if the crowd has been awaiting your appearance.

The first person who waves you over to their downy corner is Valerie; she sits in Mike’s lap with the seeming elegance of a queen; while she is technically queen of the castle, her crown might as well be lopsided as she barely balances herself on Mike’s knees long enough to spin an empty beer bottle.

That spinning bottle means only one thing: a game of truth-or-dare has become one equivalent to smooch-or-dare. You’ll either spin the bottle to kiss a fellow (or a girl), or you have to do a dare that no doubt one of these hormonal hyenas would idiotically task if you chose not to kiss whomever the bottle considered to be your intended.

The bottle spins until it finally lands on you.

 _Shit_.

While you were open-minded about kissing other girls on a whim or even a dare, the idea of kissing your drunk friend while she sat on Mike’s lap was less than appealing. But your drunken friendly circle is encouraging Valerie to get up and pressuring _you_ to kiss; and you are _not_ about to take Jason up on one of his dangerous, idiotic dares that requires a daredevil’s knobheaded logic to carry out. At best, they’re normally humiliating.

Valerie starts to get up, but you quickly insist that she remain seated. The last thing you need is to watch her face-plant into the table that is barely made of wood, if one called it that.

“Give her a five-second frencher!”

Mike, Terry, Jason, and (to your phenomenal satisfaction) Phil all watch as you lean forward, holding Valerie’s face between your palms; you close the distance between you two, and kiss her. First, the kiss is soft; and then, to please the crowd, you slip your tongue inside her mouth to meet hers.

Mike grins broadly as you allow the kiss to break naturally and you step back when the five seconds have passed. Valerie grins sloppily at you, licking her lips.

“That was great…like, _really_ great,” Jason says with a twisted smile.

“I might have to log that into memory for later,” Mike jokes.

When you turn to go back to your seat, you aren’t surprised to see that the youngest and newest addition to Phil’s interesting posse, has taken it. His name is Steve, and he has natural black hair which recently, due to his lack of expertise, has suffered a bad bleach job. Steve looks at you apologetically, but you just roll your eyes playfully and move to find somewhere else to sit.

You smile inwardly when Phil waves you over.

He sits in an armchair, but he pointedly separates his legs so you can sit between them on the cushion. This is a prelude to something else, clearly; your suspicion grows at the inkling that Phil probably told Steve to take your seat just so this convenience could happen, but you innocently take his offer.

When you sit down on the edge of Phil’s seat, you notice that both Terry (Phil’s ex-girlfriend) and Valerie look at you with subtle suspicion and obvious jealousy due to Phil’s outward display of friendship (or the fact that he wants you so close to him within the last two hours of talking to you); you aren’t too proud to admit that their suspicion was an added plus to your dividend.

For the past three or four months, you’ve been eying Phil, but your crush on him has gone unspoken. That doesn’t meant Valerie hasn’t picked up on it; she may not be your best friend, but she’s around you enough to know the difference between your casual, empty flirts and the witty, playful ones given to people you particularly like. You may not have spoken much to Phil, but everything about your demeanor when he is in the room screams ‘infatuation’.

Valerie has once or twice confided that he likes less complicated girls; your emotions have the range of a sound wave spectrum while Valerie and Terry are still emotionally incapacitated due to their own life choices made thus far; their decisions (and relationships) have stunted their immaturity.

Valerie has tried to let your crush fade, seemingly doing her duty as a protective friend to make sure you aren’t crushed by what could have been Phil’s possible rejection.

However, the flitting expressions of Valerie and Terry reveal a little more than their ulterior motives. After all, if the exes are jealous, that means Phil likes you a lot more than what your friends have let on.

“Come on!” Mike goads Jason. “You haven’t gone yet!”

“I’m not spinning that fucker,” Jason says loudly, although he smiles the entire time as though he waits for more people to add pressure to him for the game as they did to Valerie.

“Do it!” Valerie encourages. “Do it!”

And then there was a chant of ‘Do It’ that follows where people start pounding their feet to the ground and their hands on the arms of their chairs—and Phil, who is the loudest, is not the exception. While his one hand hits the arm of your chair to goad his friend, the other is surprisingly quiet.

Your body warms when you feel his hand on your back, rubbing up and down your spine slowly but with an unspoken invitation.

His fingers particularly seem more preoccupied with the back strap of your bra as they rub along the material of your shirt to slide underneath the strap, testing your boundaries. Whether the alcohol from that one drink you had less than an hour ago has finally made its way into your blood stream or because that same hand now slips further down to rub your hip and your left outermost thigh, the heat on your neck now rises to your face.

Steve, who is the shiest, now goads Jason loudly, “Come on! Do it!”

Jason stands with the dramatization of an advertisement having come to life, saying, “Okay! Okaaay! I’ll spin the bottle, since all the ladies are begging me to do it.”

“Yeah,” Phil scoffs from behind you, “that’s the only time you’ve ever gotten a woman to beg you for _anything_.”

“Shut up, fucker,” Jason laughs, waving him away. “Like you’d know anything.”

While Jason dramatically spins the bottle, even adding a little gusto for the audience’s amusement, Phil leans forward and murmurs, “The good girls always beg the hardest.”

A shudder of anticipation makes the baby hairs on your neck rise, goose flesh covering your arms as you imagine, in that instant, how Phil would know this.

The bottle continues to spin and when it lands on Terry, Jason chuckles, running a hand through the length of his long brittle hairs as he steps towards her with an impish grin: “Looks like we’ve got a winner.”

“Oh, gag me.” Terry mutters.

The width and largeness of her eyes means she’d already been doing plenty of that in the bathroom. Mixing her prescription drugs and the amount of vodka she’d imbibed always resulted in toxic gastritis. Still, you had to admire the fact that maybe Terry had gotten a feel for how much she could take before her stomach called it ‘quits’; that never kept her eyes from growing big as dinner plates, and they only widened at the disgusting image of Jason kissing her.

“You either kiss me,” Jason offers, “or you spin for a double-dare.”

“I’d rather spin for the double dare,” Terry says, nodding enthusiastically. “I’ll do the dare.”

“Think about it!” Valerie warns, holding up an unsteady hand. “Jason sucks.”

“Oh, yeah? That’s a little private, Val. Probably not something he wanted vocalized in front of _everyone._ ”

Jason looks like he might come over and punch you when the words leave your mouth and he was on that train of thought before Phil holds up a hand in your defense, “Come on, dude; she’s just fucking with you.”

“I don’t suck anyone’s dick.” Jason says defensively, glaring at you.

“Got it,” You say lightly with a smirk. “You only suck your own.”

Jason looks as though he might implode, before he cracks a grin: “Not a bad idea.”

You shrug, holding out your hands as though you’d been knighted the queen of ideas and Jason goes back to thinking of what dares he might bestow upon Terry, who peers at him with the deadliest of glares.

While Jason thinks of his dare, Phil leans forward again; you can feel his chest against your back as he grabs your hips so he lifts you up a little, and shifts underneath you so you now sit directly on his lap, the rest of your body reclines back against him due to the shift of his disposition as he leans his back against the chair once more.

“Terry, Terry, Terry,” Jason sighs, running his thumb over his chin thoughtfully. “I dare you…to…” His eyes dart all around the room, at objects, to the people surrounding him in a circle, then back to Terry. “I dare you to make out with that couch pillow.”

To prove a point, he lifts the pillow up and throws it to her; Terry surprisingly catches it with precision, but stares at him incredulously.

“That’s fucking _stupid_.” She retorts.

“Well, it’s a dare. And don’t forget…you still have to do a second one, _unless_ you want to kiss me.”

Terry frowns before she opens her mouth and starts tonguing the couch pillow as though it has a mouth of its own. The room is split in equal halves of guffawing amusement or disappointment as they watch their friend make out with a pillow that its purpose, up until now, has only been for decoration. Once the minute has passed, Terry throws the pillow back at Jason, who laughs loudly at her sudden explosion of fury.

“Still wanna do the dare?” Jason challenges. “You can kiss me if you wanna get a little flavor back in your mouth.”

“I’d rather deep throat the Empire State Building.”

“Good idea, but I don’t think we can do that.”

“Yeah,” Mike said humorously. “That sounds illegal.”

“So does tongue-fucking a couch pillow,” You say aloud, earning a few titters in your direction.

“You didn’t hear the pillow complain, so…” Jason weighs the odds literally in his hands as he balances them for show, smirking when Terry glowers darkly at him.

If looks could kill, he’d be dead five times over.

You feel Phil shift underneath you, like he might be uncomfortable; when you quietly offer to move, he insists you remain seated. Maybe the tongue-fucking comment amuses him a little more than everyone else…or maybe what Terry had done with the couch pillow was something he’d shortly thought about doing to _you_.

“Someone else give her a dare,” Jason offers to the room. “I gotta get more ideas.”

“I have one.” Phil speaks up from behind you; you crane your head in his direction and he sends a small smile your way.

“Anything has to be better than what Jason Jack Off can come up with,” Mike teases, smirking when Jason rolls his eyes and sends him a middle finger.

Phil gestures for Terry to come hither while Jason jeers, “ _All_ girls seem to come when they’re fingered, I guess.”

“Only the good girls do,” You respond wittily.

Phil glances at you with a quirked eyebrow and you feel his hips rise as if by instinct and your butt unintentionally swirls over a stiffer part of his sweatpants. You smile inwardly; the affect he has on you seems equally matched by your influence. Meanwhile, the circle of friends giggle at your insinuation.

Terry barely wobbles over, grabbing onto people’s shoulders, including your own, when she finally makes her way over to the armchair where Phil is seated before her head hovers beside yours so he can whisper his dare into her ear. You can’t make out anything he says, but the dare blossoms into fruition when Terry stands in front of you.

“Hello.” You greet with a polite smile.

“Hey, um…” Terry begins uncertainly. She quickly leans into you: “I’m terribly sorry, but…” She kisses your lips almost immediately after giving her apology.

Instantly, you pity her; so to make her look good, your hands reach up to cradle her face and you return the half-assed attempt of a kiss. She smells like beer, tastes like it too. When the kiss lasts longer than what might’ve been deemed necessary, Valerie, Anne, Sharon, Mike, Steve, and Jason all whoop and holler as Terry steps back, looking at you as though she is equally offended and relieved by your participation.

Jason cheers: “Here’s to you” (He holds up his cup as he toasts in your name) “getting more pussy tonight than the rest of us probably ever will.”

Everyone, including the girls, pick up their cups and loudly give a cheer.

Terry smiles shyly before she retreats quickly back to her seat, peering at no one else as she guzzles the next cup of alcohol on the table belonging to her. Sensing that the cup is nearly empty, you stand up and walk over to where she sits, holding out an empty hand for it.

“Want me to get you another?” You offer generously.

She glances at your sudden offer of friendship; for the entirety of the night, she’d been casting passive-aggressive stares your way for how close Phil has stood next to you, and how you were sitting within close proximity of what she used to have. Now, when she looks at your hand then at your face, she offers a small breath of relief, handing you the cup and uttering a small whisper of thanks.

“No problem.” You headed into the kitchen, promptly filling the cup halfway before you hear footsteps follow you inside.

It is Jason.

“Do you want one too?” You ask, holding the bottle up indicatively.

“Sure, if you’re offering.”

“Only the booze.”

“Of course.” Jason gives a sarcastic bow in your direction as though he is magnanimously impressed with your strict specification in what services you offer. He has a punchable face, but you tolerate it—only because he and Phil seem like good friends, in general.

“So, what’s your aim in this thing?” Jason asks, leaning his back against the counter so he can eye your legs in your knee-high skirt.

No discretion in this one, obviously.

“Just to have fun.” You say listlessly.

Perhaps it is time to pour yourself a drink since Terry was on her fifth; you thoughtfully take a beer out of the refrigerator for Phil after pouring Jason a drink; after handing the cup to him, Jason grabs your wrist.

“You know we’re having a party _tomorrow_.”

“No _way_ , I had no idea about _that_. Tell me more, Sir, Announce-A-Lot.”

Your sarcastic response makes Jason grin; he is missing a few teeth, probably a lackadaisical meth addict in the making.

“So, do you think you’ll come to _that_ one? Can’t imagine a party without your smart-ass jokes being there too. You know, to lighten things up.”

“Sundays are typically for laundry and ‘me’ time. Besides,” You say candidly, sending him a cynical smile, “You seem pretty lit enough for the both of us.”

You jerk your wrist out of his grip, to which he looks at you in surprise. That action alone makes him step away, holding up his hands at shoulder-level as though your reaction was much too aggressive, but in retrospect, Jason seems intimidated by strong women. He behaves obscenely towards Terry for this reason; with Valerie, he seems a little on edge. Regarding you, he seems lacking in vigor.

With one more cynical smile sent his way, you take Terry’s cup and yours in one hand after tucking a beer bottle in the crook of your elbow, striding into the room to see that it is Mike’s turn to spin the bottle.

Wordlessly, you hand Terry her drink (“Thank you so much”) and gave Phil your peace offering for leaving him hanging; he smiles widely, showing his purely whites as you sit back down on his lap, not bothering to start out on the edge of the chair as you’d done earlier.

“Hey, jackass,” Phil addressed Mike, who looked at him. “You got the bottle opener?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mike leans over the table, picks it up, and throws it to him. It nearly misses its mark.

You catch it in the air, silently handing it to Phil.

“Thanks, baby.”

The pet name didn’t go unnoticed, but Phil has said it so casually as if this was something he’d been waiting to say for a few hours.

“Smooch or dare, Mikey!” Valerie coos, leaning forward to wrap her arms around his middle. When Mike stands to spin the bottle, Valerie runs her hands over his stomach before they entreat up his shirt.

Mike rubs his hand over hers through his shirt, and says pointedly, “Calm down, Val…We’re in front of present company.”

“Present company, my _ass_.”

Phil mutters, “She’s _really_ fucking drunk.”

You smirk back at him: “Is that a problem for you, Phillip?”

“It’s _Phil_.”

You lean back and kiss him swiftly on the cheek, and his affronted expression suddenly disappears and replacing it is a satisfied grin.

At this point, you might’ve gone over to the couch and persuade Valerie to sit down to relieve Mike of the prying hands of his clingy girlfriend, but now, you couldn’t be more preoccupied.

Phil has lifted the hem of your shirt so the small of your lower back is exposed; the moment the chilled glass of the freshly opened beer bottle presses against your skin, your body becomes rigid; your extremities stiffened.

Phil presses his mouth against your neck, his free hand pushing away what hair had not been tied into your ponytail away from your nape, so you feel his lips kiss your sweaty, flushed skin. When those soft kisses become accompanied by his tongue, an abrasive chill spreads throughout your entire body, a cord of desire twisting in the area just beneath your stomach.

Just as quickly as the bottle had pressed against your back, it is gone, and your shirt gets pulled back down to cover the rest of you. Phil’s little snicker makes your skin crawl in the best way possible.

He is seeing how responsive you are to his touch, his teasing, his subtle advances, and to him in general. Whatever he discovers, it seems to be in your favor as he coaxes you to lie back against him. When you do, his hand that isn’t holding a beer rests innocently on top of your thigh, although those playful fingers slowly inch your skirt upwards.

The game of spin the bottle continues and you are aware that it will eventually be your first turn since you’d joined the game. You wonder briefly what would be asked of you if you didn’t want to kiss anyone on whom the bottle landed, and if that dare would be as humiliating as it had been for Terry or as easy as it had been for Valerie.

As nervous as you are regarding the game, it doesn’t compare to the slow maneuvers of your skirt being guided up your leg as Phil participates in goading different players to do as they’d been dared.

Two could play _his_ game.

Just as the hem of your skirt has climbed up nearly halfway up your thigh, you sit up, holding the arms of your chair. You clear your throat innocently, shifting and wiggling your hips so it looked as though you were re-positioning when, really, it is payback; your ass rubs against Phil’s slow but steadily growing erection, and the motion alone pulls an involuntary moan from him before he stifles it. When you peer at him from over your shoulder with a tantalizing grin, Phil takes a drink of his beer but there is a mischievous glint reflecting at you from his aquamarine eyes.

He knows _exactly_ what you are up to.

You smooth your skirt down so his game is reset once more.

“It’s Anne’s turn!” Valerie calls aloud, standing up and dramatically pointing to her little sister.

Due to Valerie’s instincts having been abandoned long ago, Anne has been drinking beers for a little bit. She looks at her sister with her usual impetuous resting bitch face.

“I’m _not_ playing!” Anne says snidely, crossing her arms. “I’m only watching.”

“You gotta do it! You were in the circle.”

“I was sitting in it, but it doesn’t mean I have to do anything.”

“Just do it, Anne! God, don’t be such a buzzkill.”

“Yeah,” Steve offers helpfully. “I mean, none of us are gonna make you do anything you don’t want to, though.”

“Congratulations, Steven,” Jason says pointedly with a sarcastic slow clap. “Doing _great_ with the peer pressure. The award goes to…?”

“Not Steve,” Mike laughs.

“Hey, Not-Steve,” Phil says humorously. He drinks the rest of his beer you gave him, placing it down on the ground next to the armchair. “Get me another, would you?”

Steve sighs loudly, but he does as he is told.

“Wow,” Jason drawls. “It must be nice having your own dog. Next, you’ll be snapping your fingers for him to jump on your legs and become a lap warmer. Then again…” He snickers. “Looks like you already got one there.”

Your body stiffens at his low blow, but there isn’t any need to say anything since someone else speaks up for you.

Phil scoffs, “Don’t be an ass.”

“I love being an ass. Gives me a reason to get up in the morning.”

“Actually, that explains why you stink so bad the next day.”

“Maybe it’s because of all that pussy I got the day before.”

“Dude, that is _not_ making your situation sound any better,” Phil laughs.

Terry sighs, “Why do you always gotta make it weird, you two?”

“We’re not making anything weird, girl,” Jason says smoothly. “We’re just keeping things light. So, what’s it gonna be, little sis” (He addresses Anne.) “You’re gonna spin the bottle, or get the fuck out of the room?”

“Jesus, that’s a little harsh.” Mike says offhandedly; he’s sitting down on the couch with Valerie, who takes her seat beside him.

“Yeah, well, if she’s gonna stay here,” Valerie adds (obviously on Jason’s side when it concerns her little sister) “then she’ll play. If not, then maybe she’s better off keeping with her bedtime like a _kid_.”

Well, that evidently is the trigger word since Anne, who looks as though she isn’t interested in playing any game before, now suddenly stands and with the huff of an angry fourteen year old, spins the bottle so violently that it hops off the table and continues to spin on the carpet.

“Watch it!” Valerie snaps. “If it broke, we’d have to find another one!”

“Not a hard task, actually,” Mike pipes up, gesturing to the empty bottles that are lying around on the floor.

“It’s the principle of the matter!”

“I’m just saying—”

“Whatever!”

Anne looks between her sister and Mike before she rolls her eyes, glancing down at the bottle before it finally stops. It was pointed at Valerie.

“Well, I’m not gonna kiss you,” Anne says hastily, glaring at her. “So, what the fuck now.”

“Dare, then.” Jason announces, victorious.

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair!”

“Either kiss your sister—”

You stand up and put your foot down: “Absolutely _not_. That’s just weird.”

Jason reclines back in his seat and says with a chuckle, “And what do _you_ suggest?”

Anne stares at you as if you might be her savior. You look at her for a moment, trying to come up with something that a kid like her could do, but honestly, she is at an adult party—one of which consisted of another kid, who just barely got her driver’s license. Sharon and Anne are underage, so already asking them to handle a Chug challenge is already irresponsible.

“Okay, so kissing your sister it is!” Jason overrules.

“Who made _you_ the referee?” You snap.

“Whoa!” Everyone titters, all of whom wear a smirk when Jason stares at you as if you’d bypassed a single ruling with an iron fist; and honestly, that isn’t far from the truth.

“Well, you didn’t come up with anything, so—”

“Fuck you. We’re not making family kiss family. That’s fucked up. So here…Anne…” You glance around and smile immediately. “I dare you…to…eat four hot dogs in less than a minute.”

Anne stares at you as if you’d lost your mind. She isn’t a vegetarian, so the hotdogs aren’t the problem. The dare itself is so innocent that it startles her, just as it does everyone else. However, the idea of eating four hotdogs in sixty seconds sounds almost impossible, but the better part is that it is legal and socially acceptable.

“And if I don’t?” Anne challenges, putting a hand on her hip.

You point upstairs: “If you don’t take my dare, then you can go to bed.”

“That’s fucking stupid.”

“It’s the dare, kid. Either you try to eat the fucking hotdogs, or you go to bed. Either way, you don’t have to tongue your sister, and _we_ don’t have to have bad dreams about it. How’s that? Everyone good on that?”

The people in the room nod, and Valerie says pointedly, “I’m _really_ okay with that.”

Anne angrily strides into the kitchen to collect the four hotdogs from the counter top while the rest of the onlookers casually snicker at the dare itself. You sit back down, and Phil pulls you back into him, his cock more discernible through his sweats as it presses against your ass.

Your impish grin finds its way to your face when you peer back at him: “You liked that, huh?”

“Just a little, yeah.”

“Maybe _you_ need a stern talking-to.”

“I’d love to hear it.”

“Down, boy.”

You hear him groan quietly; while that doesn’t soften the stiffy that was slowly rubbing against your ass, he seems to keep his administrations to himself. You can try to pretend that you aren’t horny, but that doesn’t stop the pressure in your stomach from steadily building. To assuage your urge, your slow, discreet, perpetual grinding tease of your ass against his growing cock hidden behind his sweats will have to do.

Anne comes back into the living room to polish off the rest of the hot dogs; just as she does, Steve returns with a cold beer, handing it to Phil while you steadily drink from your cup, tasting the hard liquor and feeling it torque your jaw before it stings your throat.

That familiar tingling in your brain slowly mirrors itself between your legs.

“Ready,” Jason says as he holds up a watch. “Set…Consume!”

Anne quickly eats through two hotdogs successfully before the time is up, and she quickly runs to the bathroom to puke up the leftovers. Everyone except for Valerie cheers, while Valerie quickly retreats to check on her sister…apparently, she has a bulimic problem.

“I guess we’re taking a break,” Sharon blurts out, looking at everyone; they’ll have to wait for Valerie and her kid sister to return before they continue the game.

“Good thing too,” Mike sighs in relief. “I gotta shit in the can.”

“Too much information!” She shouts, putting her hands to her ears.

* * *

Half the room departs to either wait for the toilet, go take a smoke break, or puke out their guts in the grass outside if they can’t wait for the bathroom. Meanwhile, you turn in your seat to straddle the very person you’ve been teasing. The moment your ass comes back down to sit on his lap, Phil grabs your hips, pushing you further down and into him so your ass is on his thighs, but your pussy brushes against the length and girth of his clothed hard-on; your bottom lip tucks between your teeth as you desperately hold back the urge to moan out loud.

“You’re a fucking little tease, you know that, right?” Phil says lowly, although he grins as he says it.

Maybe he likes this dance just as much as you do.

“You’re not too bad yourself.”

“And a smart ass.”

“Well, you’re a dick.”

“Obviously, you like that.”

“Fuck you, Phil.”

“You might have to by the end of the night.”

That sounds more like an inevitable possibility than a witty promise. His hands move from your hips to touch your tummy before they move underneath your shirt, reaching up to grab your tits over the cover of your bra. He lets out a heady groan, “Fuck, I knew they were going to be perfect.”

“More like a ‘hand’ful.”

“A pun, _really_?”

“I don’t feel you getting soft, so you must not mind it so much.” You say smartly, smirking when he sends you a stern expression, but it doesn’t last long when he feels your hips swirl, your pussy slowly dry humping his dick.

“Maybe, you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.”

“You know, I wouldn’t peg you for being a know-it-all.”

“Funny. I’d peg _you_ in a heartbeat.” You send him a playful wink, and Phil looks as though he might take you right there on the armchair as he gives your tits a hard squeeze.

Once the crowd starts filing in, you pull away from him and he lets loose an imminent growl. Your first concern (it seems to the public) is checking on Anne as she is one of the first people to return to the game.

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Anne insists, annoyed by your concern.

You don’t spend too much emotional energy on her fury as you are sure Valerie has spent the better part of the last twenty minutes trying to make her stop puking her guts out when the hot dogs had clearly left her system. You return to your place on Phil’s lap just in time to cover his hard-on with your pliant booty, facing the friendly circle, smirking when his longing moan escapes his mouth once you do.

“Whose turn is it?” asks Mike, looking around at everyone.

“Hers.” Terry speaks up, pointing at you.

“The Queen of Rules,” Jason teases. “It’s your turn, baby doll.”

You throw your empty plastic cup at his direction and he laughs when it bonks him on the head. You don’t care if Phil calls you pet names, but hearing it come from him is unacceptable; and, if you were being honest, it made _you_ want to puke. Instead of exposing Phil for all the sexual energy he wants to plow into you, the heavens above seem to grant the right of privacy when you simply lean forward and spin the bottle, waiting for the neck to land on whomever it deemed worthy of your kiss next.

When it lands on yourself, there is a small circle of giggles.

“What can you possibly do to yourself that would be a good dare?” Jason says thoughtfully, grinning mischievously at you.

“Well, technically,” Mike says, getting to his feet. “It didn’t land on _her_.”

There was a murmur of disagreement before Anne stands and slowly lines her finger with the neck of the bottle and follows that imaginary line to Phil’s leg. She straightens, pointing at him: “The bottle landed on you. She has to kiss _you_.”

Sharon, Valerie, and Terry, all of whom seem to know of Valerie’s illicit secret (which honestly includes you as you were part of the knowing circle), look at each other uneasily. You turn in Phil’s lap and, already, he is smirking at you as if he already knows what the endgame is.

“Make it a good one!” Jason says eagerly.

Just as you did with Valerie and Terry, you cup his face in your hands and press your lips against his.

Whereas the girls had been hesitant in the return, Phil is more than eager to reciprocate; his tongue slips inside your mouth before you are expecting it, finding your tongue as if it was heat-seeking missile. His hands lace through your hair, pushing your mouth against his even harder so you can feel every ounce of his sexual energy pulling you in like a fucking blackhole.

“Yeah!” Jason cheers. “That’s what I am fucking _talking_ about!”

“Jesus, fuck,” laughs Mike. “Give her a moment, Phil! You’re gonna suffocate her!”

When you are feeling like you might just black-out, he pulls away and smirked as you gape at him.

You almost forgot your own name and what year it was before smiling back at him. The kiss left you breathless, and he glances down to see your breasts slowly rise and fall as oxygen retreats into your lungs. Your heart beats faster than you can fully comprehend and wonder if everyone in the room can hear it as it drums loudly in your ears and down in your throbbing clit.

“That’s my dude!” Jason laughs, pounding the table with his hand. “Goddamn! I felt that.”

“I doubt it.” You say breathlessly, smirking at Phil, who returns the knowing smile. “I think it’s Steve’s turn now.”

Steve steps forward and spins the bottle on the table.

“Honestly, I doubt any kiss from here on out will be worth watching after that one,” Jason guffaws. “You gotta be a fucking vacuum to beat that one.”

“I’m not kissing a vacuum!” shouts Steve, pointing at everyone in the room.

“No one wants to see you kiss a vacuum, dude,” Mike reassures.

Jason chimes in strategically, “Maybe just hump one though. Imagine if the vacuum came—like the dirt and shit would fall out of the fucking bag.”

“That’s you on any given Tuesday,” Phil snickers.

“ _Wednesday_ , motherfucker. Wednesday. Get to know my schedule.”

Phil holds up a hand, saying, “I already know when you take your shits. I don’t need to know anything else. Trust me.”

You giggled, “So that’s a typical Thursday, right?”

The room burst into a single cackle. Just as the room steadily lightens up, the bottle slowly stops and lands on Sharon, who looks at Steve with a fear that not even Anne could animate.

“So…” Steve glances at everyone. “I don’t feel comfortable kissing a girl.”

“Well, we all figured that,” Jason pokes fun, smirking when Steve glares at him righteously.

“She’s just young…”

“In matters such as these, I guess we look to the Queen of Rules for a parlay.”

You roll your eyes at Jason’s nickname for you, but this was another set of circumstances that needed to be subdued before legalities were pulled into the game and the police showed up on their doorstep for underage drinking and statutory rape.

“Spin the bottle again, Steve.” You rule easily.

“Well, that was anticlimactic.” Jason mutters, rolling his eyes.

Relieved by your rule, Steve quickly spins the bottle. It lands on you.

“Well, well, well,” Jason sighs, smirking as he stands up to dramatically point out the obvious. “And the _bottle_ …lands on our Queen. What do you say, your Majesty? Shall you knight Sir Steve with your kiss?”

“Shut the fuck up, dude,” Phil scoffed. “That medieval shit is getting on my nerves.”

“He’s not the only one,” Steve mutters.

Valerie sighed, “How come she’s the only one getting smooched around here?”

“Yeah,” Terry mutters. “I’m thinking the game is rigged.”

“Ya’ll weren’t complaining earlier when she kissed the both of you,” Anne said with a roll of her eyes. “You only started getting pissy when she had to kiss Phil—”

“Yeah, but that—”

Mike was quick to jump in: “What does it matter? It’s just a game.”

“Yeah, but it’s starting to be retarded,” says Terry unhappily.

“I think we have a couple of Debbie Downers,” Jason says playfully, pointing to Valerie and Terry, who are quick to send him insta-glares.

While you weren’t sure if you were being attacked by everyone, it was clear Valerie and Terry were jealous of the kiss you shared with Phil, who’d been more than generous with this public display of affection than he’d been with the other girls. Still, you aren’t the type of person to take this disrespect lying down, even at the expense of allowing a game to play out.

“It’s just the game,” You remind respectfully. “I’m just playing it as—”

“Well, I’m done playing,” Terry says suddenly, looking at you as if you’d just thrown a book at her. “If it’s gonna keep ending with people kissing the same people or people having to get out of a dare—”

“Overreacting much?” Sharon mutters.

“I made out with a fucking _couch_ pillow,” Terry snaps angrily, pointing at the said couch.

“And I had to eat four fucking hotdogs!” whines Anne. “Why does _she_ get to have all the fun **and** be the referee! It’s _bullshit_!”

“Yeah. If you’re gonna be the referee, you shouldn’t be part of the game,” Valerie says indignantly, pointing in your direction.

“She can play, Val,” Mike says curtly.

“Well, I’m on Valerie’s side.” Terry says coldly, glaring at you. “So that’s like two people, so…”

Having heard enough complaints, you hold up your hands, clicking your tongue.

“Fuck all of you,” You said calmly, pointing at the girls.

It was an easy decision as you quickly leave the game and the living room in favor of the second floor. The bathroom downstairs is taken, and the bathroom upstairs is available: another easy choice. You were in and out, pissing and wiping, before anyone could come after you. You step out of bathroom connecting Valerie and Anne’s room. You walk inside their parents’ bedroom, knowing they had a vanity mirror.

When you peered at your reflection, you were surprised to see that your make-up (even the little amount you’d worn) managed to not smear or disappear off your face as it had done with Valerie or Terry. Waterproof eyeliner, mascara, and the peach-pigmented eyeshadow seemed to be full-proof.

There is a knock on the door frame, and you startle and relax all within a second, seeing Phil in the doorway. He briefly allows you to acknowledge his presence before he calmly closes the door, locking it in the process.

You lean your lower back against the vanity, the dresser slightly stuttering in its balance as it was too unstable to begin with before your weight bore against it. As you did, Phil moved completely in the room, and he didn’t stop walking until he stood directly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” He asks curiously.

“I’m fine.”

“You stormed out pretty fast.”

“Yeah, well…” You smile despite yourself. “I have a low tolerance for caterwauling.”

“Interesting take,” Phil admires aloud with a grin. “And very polite. I’d have called it ‘bitching’.”

“Taking the gutter route. Admirable, but dirty. And, if I’m being honest: A little below the belt.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m going for.”

“And _what_ are you looking for below the belt in particular?” You ask smartly, tilting your head to the side. “Something below the _belt_ or, maybe, under my skirt?”

Phil smirks when you choose to lift yourself up onto the dresser, if anything just to make yourself look submissive but he can feel the air about you, just as he knew Mike or Jason could, or even someone as innocent or naïve like Steve could. Unlike Valerie or Terry, you have played hard-to-get, and your game was on par with that. For an animal like Phil, that was a pheromone he could hardly ignore.

“Honestly, I think they were just coming for me,” You offer softly.

“I can see why.”

“Can you?”

“Uh-huh.”

His hands move to your thighs, teasingly inching his fingers over your skirt as he’d done prior to your little game having ever started; the hem of your skirt slowly moves upwards. As if you didn’t notice, you allowed him to move between your legs, standing there and within proximity of where you honestly needed him most.

“I think Val and Terry might be jealous.” You whispered.

“I think the guys might be too.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“Me neither.”

But even when you two said it, there is more knowing in your tones than the two of you can hide. The hem of your skirt has lifted above your thighs, pooling around your waist and his hands move to touch your bare skin. He glances down when they meet your soft flesh, and the crooked grin on his face makes his facial expressions appear mischievous; this is a good look on him.

While he slides his hands further up to touch your panty lines, you lean into him to lower the waistband of his pants. His cock springs out, thick, hard, and ready.

“Well, well, well,” You say with a satisfied sigh. “Look at what we have here.”

“Why the fuck do you sound like a supervillain?”

“Because I fucking feel like it.”

“You’re a weirdo, you know that.”

“Well, you must have a thing for weirdos, I guess.” You reach forward and grab his cock, smirking when his eyes close instantly as if he might cum just from the feel of himself in your palm.

His hand slips inside your panties and his impish grin returns when he feels how wet you are between your legs; your velvet silky honey and the needy moan that escapes when two fingers easily dip inside, greeting him with such a heat that an eager growl manages to leave him; he doesn’t try to stifle this one. His fingers are slow to enter and exit, as if they're asking for the invitation to be extended to a larger part of him.

“You don’t seem like a guy who asks,” You tell him quietly.

His hips swiveled, thrusting his own cock through your soft grip.

“I don’t normally have to.”

You hear his words as if they aren’t his own, like he’d never had to say them. When you met his eyes, his pupils were completely dilated as if they might fully darken the light irises, although the shadow of their former selves were barely visible even by that standard. His lips were parted as if his entire body might be lit on fire at any moment.

“Isn’t it better though when you don’t have to ask for permission?”

So far, he’d been preoccupied with watching your own hips move to the manipulation of his hand; but when he heard your words, his gaze instantly darted up to meet yours and the look you gave him was all the permission he needed to grab your ass and literally move you from the dresser to the bed behind him.

He pulls your panties down with the brutality of an animal, the growl emitting from his mouth comparative to the same when he shoves you on your back; you eagerly press his waist between your knees when he thrusts inside, hoping to keep him in. His pace is hard, deep, and fast; the trifecta of a hard, rough fucking that you not only wanted, but now has become a necessity!

When you looked up from your back, you see his teeth bared, his eyes fixed with determination, and the strength he uses to keep himself balanced above makes the muscles in his arms, neck, back, and thighs flex.

The pressure that has been building in your core is getting harder to contain, and you steadily feel it occupy the space left in your stomach; your loud, vocal moans have become damn near inaudible as your climax reaches its inevitable peak, propelling you into a fucking explosion you’ve never felt nor imagined before you feel Phil reaching that same end.

When he cums inside of you, you feel his hand along your throat, as if he’s keeping you down, and while it might scare anyone else, it just makes you lose control all over again.

It is only when he lies next to you that your climax has slowly dwindled, leaving you in an euphoric, drug-like state, and your mind slowly recuperates to remind you of your name, where you were born, and what year it is presently.

Phil smiles when you look at him breathlessly.

“Fucking worth it…” He mumbles, more to himself than to you.

“You definitely are.”

Your words startle him and when his gaze meets yours, he looks at you differently, knowing you’ve looked at him in the same way, in a way his parents couldn’t ever truly see him and in a way that he needs you to look at him all the time.

“Do you wanna do this again?” You ask, smiling hopefully.

“Yeah, but I’ll need an hour, give or take.”

You wonder what he means and realize what he meant only a few seconds too late before he giggles at your delay of understanding. When he lies on his back, you move closer to him, kissing his cheek to which he responds with a kiss on your lips.

The town may be boring, uneventful, and lifeless. But Phil is the only reason you choose not to leave.


End file.
